


Anywhere But Here

by LadyShadowphyre



Series: Anywhere [2]
Category: Avengers (Marvel) - All Media Types, The Avengers (2012), Thor - All Media Types
Genre: #Globetrotter Loki, 6+1 Things, Breastfeeding, F/M, Gen, Genre-Savvy OCs, Never Write While Depressed and Angry, Semi-Blatant Self-Insertion
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2012-12-17
Updated: 2012-12-29
Packaged: 2017-11-21 08:56:30
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 4,582
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/595864
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LadyShadowphyre/pseuds/LadyShadowphyre
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Kathy Harris had never heard of "Strategic Homeland something-or-other" before their agents "invited" her to join them for a "chat". She'd liked it that way.</p><p>Alternately, six Avengers whom Kathy didn't want to meet but did, and one supposed supervillian she was glad to see.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Steve Rogers/Captain America

**Author's Note:**

  * Inspired by [The Tourist!Loki Prompt Fills](https://archiveofourown.org/external_works/14523) by Multiple. 



> For more in this universe on AO3, look [here](http://archiveofourown.org/tags/*h*Globetrotter%20Loki/works). For other #Globetrotter ficlets for the original prompt, go [here](http://avengerkink.livejournal.com/6021.html?thread=10025605#t10025605).

**K** ATHERINE ELOISE HARRIS HAD NEVER, before today, even heard of Strategic Homeland Something-or-Other, and if her husband had heard of them, then he'd never told her about it. Clearance issues, which she'd always respected, both when he was in the Army and now as a private contractor. She and Danny told each other everything, except when it might compromise one of their jobs, and with as much as they trusted each other, it worked.

...She'd liked it that way.

The room they'd put her in was a classic interrogation room, bare walls save for the "mirror" in one of them, plain hard backed chairs, and a table with a plate of doughnuts on it. She'd flatly refused to be separated from her daughter, green eyes glinting with the promise of pain if they tried to push it, so she sat in one of the chairs facing the "mirror" while Meredith sat in her lap. The situation was stressful, Kathy knew that, and they'd clearly missed their dinner reservations, so when Meredith started pawing at her chest and whimpering, Kathy had reached into her shirt and unhooked the catch in her bra, pulling one breast out of her shirt through the neck and letting Meredith latch on contentedly.

She'd stared coldly at the "mirror" the entire time, and she could almost taste the unease of whoever was behind the glass; so much fuss over a bare boob, honestly.

The door had swung open. Kathy didn't look away from the mirror until the door closed again, and then she looked down at her daughter - eyes drooping slowly in exhaustion - and brushed a lock of hair out of her face. She continued to ignore whoever was in the room with her as the other chair was slowly pulled out and a body settled into it across from her. She waited as papers were shuffled, tapped, and placed on the table. Finally the person - a man by the timbre of the voice - cleared his throat and said, "Mrs Harris?"

"That's the name," she said blandly, looking up with a flat expression that forbid any attempt at informality. "Don't wear it out."

The man across from her was _not_ Agent Sitwell, she noticed. He was too tall, too blonde, and too earnest-looking. In fact, he looked distinctly uncomfortable sitting there, and his eyes never strayed below her face.

"It's nearly dinner time," he said after a moment, and Kathy caught a wave of movement from her lower peripheral vision towards the plate between them. "We thought you'd be hungry."

"Jenny Craig," she deadpanned. The man across from her looked confused, which was interesting. Ms Craig's weight loss program was nearly as famous as WeightWatchers.

"Oh," he said, clearly not understanding, and fell silent again. Kathy stared fixedly at him, not moving more than necessary to adjust her hold on Meredith, not looking away. Meredith detached herself, fast asleep, and Kathy merely resettled her against her chest, still staring. She knew the game being played here, and she'd be damned if she broke first.

Meredith sniffled and started seeking; Kathy guided her back to a nipple without looking away.

"How do you know Loki?" came the simultaneously expected and unexpected question. Kathy tilted her head to one side, regarding him consideringly.

"I don't," she said after a moment. "Unless you mean the guy who did my first tattoo when I was eighteen, or this kid I run into at cons sometimes."

"Cons?" he repeated, looking concerned. She wanted to roll her eyes at him.

"Fan-based conventions," she elaborated. "Science fiction books, movies and shows, Japanese animation... _comics_ ," she added on a drawl, playing a hunch. He flushed and averted his eyes. Hm.

"And you... attend these conventions?" he asked, very obviously trying not to shift uncomfortably.

"No," she said blandly, waiting until he relaxed before saying, "I _work for_ these conventions. Security staff, mostly."

"Mostly?" he pressed. She gave him a bland half smile.

"That's classified," she told him. When he looked at her askance, she fought the urge to roll her eyes. "It takes a special kind of person to be both a geek and a fan and not go fangirl - or fanboy - over the conventions guests, no matter who that guest is."

"Aren't geeks and fans the same?" he asked, looking confused again. She was beginning to think it was his default setting, or at least his default cover. Fine, she'd bite.

"Hardly," she said, settling back in her chair and shifting Meredith to flex her supporting arm to regain some blood flow without interrupting either her daughter's nap or her snack. "A fan usually knows everything about something - a book series, an author, an actor, a comic hero.... - and tends to get star struck around the object of their fan base. Not all of them, but it happens. A geek, at the very least, knows a little bit about _everything_ and a lot about a select few things. Geeks are good to have as con staff, because they're knowledgeable about the subjects and usually can double as tech support if one of the computer systems goes down or tech staff gets short-handed. FYI, every department ends up short-handed at some point. Someone who's a geek _and_ a fan? That's even odds they'll be professional and polite meeting their idols and will save the hyperventilating fan moments for when they're not on the clock."

"So you met Loki at one of these... conventions?" he asked, and honestly, why did he bother asking if he didn't care about the answer?

"I met a kid going by the name Loki," she clarified. "And ten years ago a guy going by Loki inked my first tattoo into my skin."

He was getting frustrated, she noticed with carefully concealed amusement. Her answers had been very deliberate, nothing vague, but not answering what he really wanted to know. Frowning at her, he opened the folder and pulled out a set of pictures, which he spread in front of her. "Do you recognize the man in these pictures?"

They were, of course, pictures of her with the sad-eyed man, recent ones from the Museum of Natural History and taken from odd angles that implied CCTV footage rather than Twitter posts, which was another clue to this aggravating puzzle. _Facial recognition software,_ she considered. Possible to sell a mistaken identity ploy, citing the infrequent but still plausible 'identical strangers' cases, and weren't there a couple of NuEvo cases involving shape-shifters?

"Hard not to, since I was having lunch with him," she said, raising an eyebrow in a silent, _"Your point?"_

"Are you aware of his identity?" the man across from her asked. Really, she kind of appreciated the soft touch, but she also wanted to shake him and yell, _"You're not asking the right questions! Get it together!"_

"My friend Sonya calls him 'Hashtag Globetrotter'," she said instead, deliberately casual. "Apparently he's trending on Twitter."

"You don't know for sure?" he asked, startled again.

"I don't have Twitter," she said. "No, not everyone has or wants Twitter," she added at his expression, "and no, I'm not psychic. I just get that reaction a lot."

"I don't have Twitter, either," the man said, looking at her oddly.

"Good for you for escaping technological peer pressure," she responded. It was another tally.

"When was the first time you met this man?" he asked, and she favored him with a slight smile.

"Two months ago," she said. "My daughter and I were having lunch out. He sat at a table near mine and asked for my recommendation for local bookstores."

"And after that?"

"A month later, we ran into each other by accident at a park and recognized each other. I suggested he visit a local art museum." There was a flicker in the man's expression.

"And after that?" he asked again. Kathy lifted her free hand and tapped the pictures pointedly. He was looking startled again. "And you never asked for his name?"

"I haven't asked your name, either," she pointed out placidly. "If he'd wanted me to use his name, he would have given me his name when I gave him mine. He didn't, so I didn't ask."

"That's pretty trusting of you, ma'am," the man said doubtfully.

"I usually have good instincts," Kathy said, her eyes narrowing as she locked her gaze with his. "Which is why instead of demanding a lawyer, I'm giving you the opportunity to prove you aren't one of those shadow government thugs who lock up innocent Americans on trumped up charges to have a scapegoat you can point to when people start looking for someone to blame for the latest crisis."

"I wouldn't-- SHIELD wouldn't do that! The government wouldn't do that!" he protested, and he was looking so earnest that she almost didn't want to say it, didn't want to shatter his bubble. Instead, she girded her metaphorical loins and gave him her best _"Surely you're not that naive?"_ look.

"They already have," she said, not looking away from his eyes. "You might want to read up a bit more on the last sixteen years of political history, Captain."

"...You know who I am," Captain Steve Rogers said after a moment of silence. It wasn't a question, but she nodded anyway. "How...?"

"I already told you. It takes a special blend of geek and fan to work for a con," she reminded him. "Most fans would have already asked for your autograph, despite the circumstances."

"Oh..." He looked chagrined, like he couldn't believe he'd missed the clues. "Er..."

"No," Kathy said flatly. "My husband might have, given his major in univeristy was military history, but after he finds out your organization abducted his wife and daughter and you personally interrogated me--"

"This is just an interview," Rogers protested, interrupting.

"For which I was brought in under armed guard with implicit intent to use force if I resisted the 'invitation'," she fired back, glaring. "Never mind the part where your agents arrested me on the steps of a public national landmark in front of camera phone wielding witnesses."

"You haven't been arrested," Rogers said.

"And holding me and my two year old daughter here against our will without charges leveled is so much better," she snapped. "Add to that the fact you made us miss our dinner reservations, and I'm less inclined to talk Danny down if he decides to go ballistic first and ask questions later."

"We brought you food," Rogers said after a few moments of stunned silence, pushing the still untouched plate forward. Kathy adjusted her hold on Meredith and gave him her most disdainful glare.

"Doughnuts," she said authoritatively, pushing the plate right back, "are _not_ food."


	2. Clint Barton/Hawkeye

**T** HERE WAS NO SOUND IN THE ROOM, aside from Kathy and Meredith breathing, once Captain Rogers left. It was a mixed blessing, really. On the one hand, there was no sound to tug at her awareness and drive her crazy, which was nice. On the other hand, there was nothing much to distract her, either. The plate of doughnuts had been removed, thankfully, so the unfortunately still appetizing smell of them was no longer lingering in her nose. The photographs, however, _had_ remained, as had several others, images of Kathy's sad-eyed semi-friend wearing leather and armor, a brilliant green cloak and a golden helm with curved horns that put Kathy in mind of a mountain goat.

The manic grin on his face in those pictures might have been off-putting if Kathy hadn't been able to see two very interesting things in the one close-up of his face caught on camera. For all the motion of the rest of his face and body posture might bear out the supposed truth of that smile, his eyes were haunted and sad and alight with pain in ways she'd seen too often before. More than that, however, was the color. The man in armor had too-wide, too-pained _blue_ eyes.

The man she had met three times now had eyes as green as her own.

_"Bright eyes... burning like fire... bright eyes... how can you close and fail?"_

Kathy reached out one finger unconsciously, tracing the shadows under the blue eyes of the horned-helmed man, comparing them to her memory of only a few hours ago when she'd seen them glistening as Meredith had hugged him tight in farewell.

_"How can the light that burned so brightly suddenly burn so pale...."_

"You made Captain America cry," a voice from the door interrupted her musings. She didn't bother looking up.

"You shouldn't have let him interrogate me first, then," she returned, voice bland and uninterested. She might have felt bad about making the Captain cry if she'd actually believed she had, but that wasn't the impression she'd been left with, and there was a note in the speaker's voice - male again - that indicated exaggeration.

The door closed and booted feet made their way across the concrete floor. Kathy didn't look up from her study of the picture until this new interrogator flopped into the chair opposite in a way that she was probably supposed to think was graceless and casual. Too bad for him that he'd chosen to wear combat boots in front of a former Army wife who pays attention to details.

"Interesting music choice," he said, his tone casual. "Simon and Garfunkle?"

" _Watership Down_ ," she replied, matching his tone while mentally filing that little tidbit away. He was right, but not many people outside of a certain age bracket and musical taste would know that.

"Christ, that book was creepy," the man said, providing more clues. Kathy tossed him a bone.

"My parents showed me the movie as a kid before I was old enough to read the book," she said, smiling a little. "It gave me nightmares for a week. The book was actually more... soothing."

"Not a very normal response," he said. Kathy had to bite back a laugh, confining herself to a smirk.

"Never claimed I was normal," she said, eyes shifting to look at the image of her sad-eyed friend holding Meredith up so that her daughter could see the wall of seashells better. There was silence from across the table. Kathy kept her eyes down, lifting the picture she was studying as if to examine it more closely. Meredith detached again, shifting in her sleep, and Kathy obligingly resettled her while positioning the photograph for a "better look".

The two sat in silence for a long while until Kathy's stomach decided to complain about the lack of even the damned doughnuts to smell. Kathy felt the amusement in the air and ignored it; bodily responses were frequently involuntary, but this one worked in her favor.

"Hungry?" the man asked, smirk audible. So it was going to be like that, hm? Kathy managed to keep her scorn off her face, still studying the photograph.

"Planning to let us leave?" she asked, keeping her voice even and dry.

"Are you saying you aren't enjoying our hospitality?" The man was actually trying to sound affronted.

"You and I define 'hospitality' very differently," she replied, deadpan. _That_ earned her a twitch she could actually hear. Hm. She must have touched on something by accident with that one. No way of knowing without looking up what it was, and the moment was slipping by, so she let it go, setting down the photograph and picking up the one with the close up of the man in the horned helm, allowing a slight frown onto her face.

"Something wrong?" he asked. Prompted, more like.

Keeping her tone absent, she said, "Do you want it categorically, chronologically, or alphabetically?"

"You pick," he said with what she guessed must be his affected 'magnanimous gesture' tone.

"A, _Anaconda_ ," she began, her tone deliberately even and slightly distracted. "That movie sucked ass like nothing else save for that last 'Mission Impossible' film. B, benzalkonium chloride. It's supposed to speed up the healing of cold sores, but it always seems to make them worse quicker before they start healing. C, Cornelius K Crinklebine. What the hell kind of name is that for a goldfish, especially when they don't even use it in the recent cartoon? D, dinner. You people made us miss our reservations at _Kelly's_. E--"

"Think I would have preferred categorically," the man broke in, sounding stunned and a little put out.

"Too bad," Kathy said shortly. "E, eggshells. No matter how careful you are, some tiny piece always falls in and you have to fish it out again. F, Friends of Humanity. Those hypocritical racists need to get their heads out of their asses. G, gynecological exams--"

"Stop!" he yelped. She stopped. And looked up.

"Really?" she drawled. "I'm sitting here with my boob hanging out and the gyno stuff gets you?"

"Don't ruin the poetry of the female form for me," he grumbled, crossing his arms over his chest and scowling. She took that moment to study him - well-muscled arms with a a scarred patch she could just barely see on the underside of the right forearm, a slightly squashed face and a previously broken nose, hair in a familiar cut just a little too long on the sides to be regulation, flushed cheeks, and was he _pouting_ at her? - and then she locked eyes with him and the bottom dropped out of her stomach.

 _Broken_ sang in his eyes, along with the same echoing pain that she saw every time she looked in the sad green eyes of the man these people seemed to have already decided was a war criminal. Every time she'd said something to him that had made the air grow colder, he'd had that look in his eyes. Angry. Sorrowful. Guilty, oh so guilty. Wary. Self-loathing.

She pulled back slowly, leaning back in her chair and setting the photograph on the table between them, her face settling into closed, neutral lines. "H, Hawkeye," she said softly, ignoring his jerk of surprise. "You shouldn't be in here with me, either."

"Why not?" he challenged, a tick in his jaw. So many answers she could give to that, from his guilt to his anger, to the part where, if she remembered what Danny had told her, she shouldn't be able to read him this well.

"You aren't prepared to be objective," she answered at length, bringing one hand up to rub her eyes and pinch the bridge of her nose. It was getting loud again. "Not about _that_ one."

"What?" He sat up, leaning closer, anger and confusion clouding his eyes. "What one?"

"What color are his eyes?" she asked abruptly. "Your war criminal. What color?"

"What makes you think I know?" he asked. He was tense, arm muscles flexing and fingers twitching. She gave him a flat look and waited. His jaw clenched as he tried to stare her down. She stared right back. "Blue," he finally spit out from between gritted teeth. "Why?"

"The man I had lunch with today has green eyes," Kathy said simply.

Neither of them said anything for a long time.


	3. Thor

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, I am no longer quite so angry with Steve and Clint. Unfortunately, I've just read the latest chapter of [The Snow Wife (Yuki Onna)](http://archiveofourown.org/works/573419) by startrekfanwriter, and it's Thor's turn. Poor Thor.

**T** HE MAN KATHY HAD IDENTIFIED AS HAWKEYE, thanks to her familiarity with "archer's scars", had tried asking other questions, but Kathy had gone back to ignoring him and eventually he'd left. When the door had closed behind him, Kathy had looked up and stared fixedly at the "mirror", eyes glinting dangerously. _"Stop sending in the people I can break without trying or meaning to!"_ she wanted to hurl at the nameless, faceless watchers behind the glass, but she held her tongue, more out of deference to her still sleeping daughter than any desire to spare the agents these people wanted to throw into her path.

She wondered how much she'd already given away despite doing her best not to give them anything she didn't want to.

The door slammed open forcefully, causing Kathy to jump. It also caused Meredith to wake up and begin to cry. Leveling her most malevolent glare at the mountain of a man who had dared storm in here and wake her daughter, Kathy set to work rocking her daughter and stroking her hair, whispering soft endearments that slowly turned into soft singing as Meredith latched onto her mother's still-bared nipple and began to suckle, calming slowly.

 _"Lay down... your sweet and weary head...."_ she crooned softly, watching Meredith's blue-green eyes blink sleepily up at her. _"Night is falling... you have come to journey's end... Sleep now... and dream of the ones who came before.... They are calling... from across a distant shore...."_

Slowly, ever so slowly, Meredith drifted back to sleep. Kathy didn't stop singing softly to her until the song was done and she bent to kiss the little girl's forehead tenderly. Only then did she raise her eyes to stare coolly at the man who had barged in so violently, mouth set in an unfriendly line.

"For your sake," she said coolly, eying his blond hair, full beard and mustache, and stormy blue eyes that looked uncannily like those of her father, "I sincerely hope we are not related."

"I am Thor Odinson," the man rumbled, though he kept his tone low and quiet with a glance at Meredith's sleeping face. Well. That made a nice change from random people showing up and making her guess. She wracked her brain for the information she'd studied back during her World Mythologies course and the accompanying Analysis of Ancient Cultures and the Impact on Language course. She'd written her paper on the Celtic tribes and pantheons, but there'd been a couple of sections on the Ancient Norse "gods"....

"Katherine Dierdredottir," Kathy said at length, using the Old Norse naming pattern she remembered coming across once.

"Do you understand why you are here, Lady Katherine?" Thor asked, leaning forward. Kathy narrowed her eyes at him, unimpressed.

"Do _you_?" she asked archly. He looked taken aback.

"You have been in close contact with my brother, Loki," he said, speaking as if the answer was meant to be obvious. Kathy fought the urge to snort.

"So you claim," she said instead. "SHIELD claims I have been in contact with someone they deem a war criminal. All I know is that I've met this man--" Here she tapped the photograph of her earlier lunch companion holding Meredith. "--all of three times, the most recent time being earlier today when we had lunch."

"Then you admit to speaking with my brother?" Thor demanded. Kathy glared.

"I admit nothing of the sort," she retorted. "Nothing anyone has said or shown me thus far has convinced me you're even talking about the same person!"

It was true, to a point. So far the evidence presented was about as tenuous a connection as her own to the man with sad eyes who looked at her daughter with wonder and longing and flinched from touch even as he leaned into it. That she had her own suspicions was completely irrelevant, and the floundering look on the large man's face was completely worth it.

"Loki is skilled in deception and manipulation," Thor started carefully, eying her with uncertainty now.

"So he'd fit right in with the crowd up on the Hill," she drawled back. "Deception and manipulation are tools of the trade for any politician. What makes you think this is him?"

"I would know my brother anywhere!" Thor said, looking affronted.

"Tell me the colour of his eyes, then," Kathy shot back. Thor blinked, looking nonplussed.

"Green," he said. "As green as the new grass."

"And yet the man in these pictures," she said, shifting her pointing finger to the images of the horn-helmed man with the mad grin, "whom I have been told is the war criminal, would appear to have blue eyes. Hawkeye even claims that Loki's eyes are blue." She lifted her hand, palm up and to one side. "You see my confusion."

"...We have had reason to believe that my brother was controlled by another during the invasion of Midgard," Thor said after a moment.

"'Controlled by another', as in directly controlled or merely under duress?" Kathy asked politely. It might be an important distinction.

"Directly controlled, through the manipulation of his mind," Thor clarified. Kathy wondered if he was supposed to be telling her that.

"So, by your own admission, everything 'Loki' did in the invasion of our planet was at the will and behest of another," she said, leaning back in her chair and raising an eyebrow. "Why, then, is he being declared a war criminal?"

"He has killed many--" Thor started, but Kathy interrupted.

"How many?" she asked. "Give me a number, an exact figure, that he has killed with his own hands, not through collateral damage or orders given."

"The Lady Widow stated that he had killed eighty-three people in the three days he was on Midgard before I arrived," Thor said after a moment.

"Did she say how they died?" Kathy asked softly, eyes intent. Thor shifted in his seat.

"There is still the matter of his attack on Jotunheim that he must answer for," he said, avoiding the question. Kathy raised both eyebrows.

"Was this attack unprovoked?" she asked, not letting up. "For that matter, has Jotunheim demanded retribution?"

"Do not speak of matters you do not understand!" he growled. Meredith whimpered in her sleep and Kathy glared at him coldly.

"Do not presume to come into my presence and lecture me on what I do and do not understand when you fail time and again to present me with _facts_ ," she said, her tone as hard and cold as ice. "He said this and she said that, and not a bit among them about what _is_ , only what it _seems_."

"Then tell me where my brother is that I may demand of him the truth you claim I have not been told!" Thor bellowed, smashing his fists on to table. It wasn't meant to take the abuse of a god, clearly, for it splintered and broke apart, and Kathy hastily shielded her waking daughter from the rain of bits of wood. 

"I don't know," she said, smiling slightly, eyes hard. "I never know. Not your brother, nor my erstwhile lunch companion, nor even yon helmed and homicidal gentleman. But if, as you and SHIELD continue to claim, they are one and the same...." She narrowed her eyes. "...I shudder to think what he has endured to put such pain in his eyes and such fear of and yearning for a kind touch."

"Mommy? Who is that man?" Meredith asked, blinking at Thor while clutching her mother's shirt. Kathy brushed a stray splinter out of her daughter's hair as she considered her answer.

"Meredith, this is Prince Thor Odinson of Asgard," she said at length, deliberately leaving off any indication that the man who'd just destroyed the table and woken her child might be considered a god.

"Oh," Meredith said, burrowing closer to Kathy. "...he looks like Grandaddy," she whispered. Kathy smiled gently down at her daughter.

"I'm seventy-five percent certain we aren't related," she said, glancing up at Thor with a dark glint in her green eyes. "But then I've heard that the Aesir don't like to acknowledge their _mixed_ offspring."

Truthfully, she was more than just seventy-five percent sure that they weren't blood-related to the purported alien god of thunder, but it was worth the speculation that would result to see the stricken look on the blond man's face at her words.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The full lyrics for "Into the West" by Annie Lennox can be found [here](http://www.lyricsmode.com/lyrics/a/annie_lennox/into_the_west.html).
> 
> Additionally, Marvel comics canon has the backstory run pretty close to the original myths. Given what the myths say about Loki's children and Kathy's self-proclaimed "hyperactive protective instinct", Thor should consider himself lucky he's not Odin.


End file.
